Child Abuse Story From Dave

by Dave
(United Kingdom)

I am now 45 years old, and yet only last week I was again in therapy, this time with a different professional, receiving counselling for yet another aspect of something that was ruined as a result of my childhood abuse. Sadly, that is my sex life. I am not wanting to sound crude when I say this, but even to this day, and after being married for almost 24 years to a most wonderful patient and understanding wife, I still retain a fear of close intimacy (for want of better wording).

My story in brief...

When I was around 8 years old, I lived in a house with my mother, my baby sister, and the man who I always believed was my dad. I found out years later that he wasn't my dad. Up until then, things were ok. We were well provided for, as he was a skilled carpenter and earned good money. Looking back now, although I never realised it at the time, my younger sister was always the center of attention. While she was downstairs receiving a fuss from him and my mother and visitors, I would be upstairs in my room for hours, playing with the latest train set or racing set. At that time, I was content with this, but in reality these gifts were a ploy to keep me out of the way. Still, things were quite good in general. He, nor my mother, ever hurt me then.

On one occasion whilst he was away, my mother had everything removed from the house and left with a younger man who was later to become my brother's dad. He'd already got my mother pregnant, so my sister and I were uprooted. We moved not that far away, into what had at one time been a corner shop. It was a miserable run-down place. I hated it. This was when things in my life took a turn for the worse.

We had only been there for a few weeks, when it became apparent that this new man in my mother's life had a built-in evil streak. My sister at this time was, I think, almost three and a half years old and had just got out of nappies/diapers. I, however, had started to wet the bed.

One day, after I returned from school, he turned around to my mother and told her that seeing as my sister no longer needed her nappies, he thought I should be made to wear them instead. My mother was smitten with him. She would do anything to please him. To my shame, she went along with him. As a result, I was forced, after several beatings and through fear of more of the same, to accept my fate. So, every evening I was put into nappies by them. My sister had just started at nursery school, which was attached to my school. The man spent ages teaching my sister to go tell all the other kids about her big brother in nappies. Fortunately for me, she never had any real contact with kids my age. This was done just as a way of keeping up the shaming ritual. I remember lying in bed night after night, crying until I fell asleep, then in the morning, waking up in a wet nappy, and again the tormenting would begin...

Although he earned reasonable money, he was stupid with it. He would spend it on stupid things, like cars and tropical fish. He was always getting laid off from work as a scaffolder, and so he and my mother would end up arguing. As a result, my mother never had enough money. She started sending me to my grans house after school with a note to borrow some money. The trip entailed travelling in the dark and catching two busses to get there. I used to get off the second bus in the same place every time.

One day, a man approached me and offered to walk with me. This was the start of my sexual abuse. He would meet me there with sweets and chocolates, and then we would take the secluded shortcut alongside the old church, as if he was helping me to get to my gran's quicker. He started asking me to do things to him...other than to say that this went on for several weeks, until my gran and grandad got to asking about the ever-growing amount of chocolates and sweets that I kept turning up with, I will stop, as the details are still painful.

I remember getting to my gran's the last time it happened. Soon, my grandad was up and out with the dogs. My gran was on the phone to my mother. All hell let loose. Needless to say it stopped, and so did my late-night bus trips.

A few weeks later, my mother gave birth to my step-brother. As a result, things got worse, not only for me, but also for my sister. Even she was starting to get regular slappings and early bed times. It was quite obvious where their affections lay. From this point on, I encountered some terrible physical as well as mental abuse, but far too much to keep brief here.

I am currently writing a book about my life from these early days through to the later years.

I joined the army at 19, to escape my past troubles, but then ended up fighting in the Falklands. It was through the trauma of that experience that I started having counselling. It was this counselling that led to me opening up, and thus getting all the other help that I needed. To this day I remain on antidepressants, not because I'm depressed, but because I wouldn't be without them...!

Luckily, I have a good marriage, although we couldn't have kids. And I have lots of real close friends. And some close real family members. Asked if I would change anything from my past, that would be a difficult question to answer; it's my past that has made me what I am today: An honest, kind, caring person, who gets a lot back from making other people smile.

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